Fun and Guns
by cresmoon
Summary: Castle invites Beckett to his book launch party. Flirtation, banter, and UST ensue a.k.a. fluff, fluff, fluff . Be warned, there is a tad bit of raunchiness implied but nothing specific or graphic.


**Genre:** humor, implied Castle/Beckett romance

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, making no money from this, you know the drill.

**Writer's note: **So…my first _Castle_ fic! I've written for other fandoms before but never for this one, so I'd love some constructive feedback. Assume this one takes place a few months in the future when Castle and Beckett have been working together longer. Enjoy! (I hope) Oh btw, the last line implies a bit of raunch…just so that you younger'uns are warned.

Fun and Guns

_How the hell did women walk in these awful things?_, Detective Kate Becket grumbled to herself as she resisted the urge to take off the 4-inch pumps she was wearing and throw them at someone. If by "someone," she meant a certain pain-in-the-ass mystery writer who'd insisted Beckett come to his book launch party despite her repeated, vehement refusals to do any such thing.

"Oh, come on, Beckett, it'll be fun!" The overgrown manchild that was Richard Castle had crowed at her that afternoon, bouncing up and down enthusiastically like some type of chimp on speed. "Oh wait, of course. I have to define fun for you. Noun. The sensation of enjoying oneself without running around chasing bad guys with guns—"

"I know what fun means, Castle," Beckett cut him off irritably. "But watching you strut around at some silly party with everyone telling you how great you are? Not my idea of fun."

Not at all. Hoity toity parties were not Detective Katherine Beckett's thing.

So why the hell had she come?

_I'm willingly spending an evening in the company of Richard Castle when I don't have to._ Not only that, but she'd gone to one of those snobby, pricey boutiques and blown a month's salary on a little black dress and the crippling shoes to match just for the evening. Thank goodness no one at work was ever going to know about this.

She'd just arrived and already downed two glasses of champagne. It wasn't hard liquor – being drunk was the only way to tolerate Castle most days – but it would have to do.

A cater waiter passed by her carrying one of those snooty appetizers they only served at coronations and Hollywood red carpets. He held the tray out to Beckett, who waved it away.

"Where is Mr. Castle tonight?" The room was so full of people that Beckett couldn't see him anywhere.

The waiter nodded to his right. "Over there." Beckett turned to where the waiter had pointed and met Castle's eyes for the first time that evening.

He was wearing a jet black tuxedo, one of those, she was certain, fitted so perfectly it had been designed and tailored just for him. Carnation in his lapel, crinkly eyes, the same cheeky smirk that annoyed the crap out of her as he gave her a once-over. Same nutty Castle.

So why did her knees suddenly feel like melted butter when he looked at her?

Castle handed his champagne glass to the middle-aged red-haired woman on his left and strode over to Beckett. "You came," he said smoothly. "You look beautiful."

Beckett flushed. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten so dressed up or an attractive man had complimented her. But when Castle did it…"You clean up pretty well yourself," she said a little stiffly. Castle didn't acknowledge the compliment but his grin went back to smirky, much to Beckett's annoyance.

Castle leaned forward. "Are you saying you find me hot?" He whispered teasingly in her ear.

Beckett rolled her eyes, resisting every urge to smack him upside the head. She stepped back. Standing too close to Castle was never a good thing – whatever was wrong with him could be contagious. "So this is a nice shindig. You do this kind of thing a lot?" She asked, not bothering the hide her contempt at all the glitziness.

But Castle didn't look offended, only amused. "I take it you don't approve of all this." His mouth quirked. "So why did you come?"

"Because you invited me," said Beckett haughtily. "Besides you interfere with my life every day at work, so I figured I should do the same to you."

Castle smiled wider. "You're not interfering, Beckett." Without warning he suddenly grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the opposite direction.

"Where are we going, Castle?"

"To dance," he said simply, turning around to face her, his eyes gleaming. Before Beckett knew what he was doing, he'd stopped on the dance floor and put his arms around her waist.

Beckett gritted her teeth. "I don't dance, Castle."

"You are dancing, Beckett." It was true, she realized. Someone had put on some jazzy music, slow and soft, and he put her arms around his neck and was moving to the music, making her move with him.

"Do you always have to be so damn infuriating, Castle?"

"You can call me Rick."

"Rick?"

"It's called a first name. The opposite of a last name –"

"Shut up, Castle."

"Rick, Kate, Rick. We're not at work."

"Shut up, _Rick_. And call me Beckett."

The annoying grin was back. For a split second, Beckett almost gave in to the urge to smack him.

If he hadn't been gazing at her so intently, as if she was the only person in the room, she might actually have done it.

Beckett changed the subject. "So who is the woman you were just talking to?" She nodded in the direction of the red-haired older woman she'd seen him with earlier.

"My mother. Big Broadway star a few decades ago. Nowadays it's mostly serenading in the shower and singing operettas to the toilets."

Beckett couldn't help laughing. She looked around and noticed a much younger version of his mother, a young girl who couldn't have been more than 16. "And who's she?"

His grin faded as Castle grew quiet. "My daughter Alexis." He smiled slightly, his eyes beaming with obvious pride. "With my first wife."

"Ah." She must have been the daughter Castle had mentioned taking to the playground. For some reason, Beckett was suddenly at a loss for words. Was it because she couldn't imagine someone like Rick Castle in an institution as profound as marriage, much less raising a (seemingly normal-looking) daughter?

"So what about you, Beckett?" Castle's question suddenly brought Beckett out of her pondering.

"What about me?"

"Never even come close to getting married?"

"No."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"Lived together?"

"_No."_

"Got a tattoo of someone's name on your buttcheeks?"

Forget the smack on the head - a headlock would be better. And more painful. "Castle, you _do_ remember I'm carrying a gun, right?"

Castle grinned devilishly. "Just making conversation, Beckett. You wouldn't shoot me in front of all these people at my own party, would you?"

"I'm not in the mood for justifiable homicide tonight, Castle. Some other time, okay?"

"A raincheck it is, then." Castle let go of her waist. Beckett blinked, confused, then realized that the song was over as everyone around them applauded the band. Beckett sheepishly detached her arms from around his neck.

Castle stepped back. "Well, thanks for the dance, Beckett. I'd better go mingle before I have to make my speech to my adoring public. Try to have a good time, won't you?," he said mockingly. "Remember our word for today? Fun?"

"I have a better word that rhymes with fun, Castle. Gun. As in _my_ gun, remember?"

Castle leaned closer to her. "Oh, I happen to have a gun, too, Beckett."

"Oh, really?" she asked sardonically.

Castle leaned to her closer still; for some reason Beckett didn't take a step back. "No, not really," he whispered huskily in her ear. "I'm just happy to see you."

Flashing her a parting wink and that same damn smirk, Richard Castle left a very beet red-faced Beckett on the dance floor as he turned and walked away.


End file.
